Free The Black Tattoo by Sam Enthoven Page A

I expected."
    "Me neither, petal," said Raymond grimly.   "Me neither."
     
    *         *         *         *         *
     
    The train journey back to North London passed in silence.   Charlie just sat there, staring ahead into space; he only looked up when other passengers jostled his legs, and the jostlers looked away quickly, perhaps sensing, like Jack, the fury that surrounded him like a storm cloud.   The silence kept up as they left the station.   They sky was starting to turn a darker, deeper blue as sunset approached, but Charlie just kept stumping on ahead, head down, and Jack found he was having to walk quite quickly to keep up with him.   Only when they were almost as far as the front door of Jack's house did Charlie finally stop and turn.
    "Well," he said, still not looking at Jack, not really.   "I guess I'll see you tomorrow."
    "I'll go across the park with you," said Jack.
    Charlie looked at him.
    "I need the exercise," added Jack as casually as he could.   Lame as this was, it was the best excuse he could come up with.   He had to get Charlie to talk to him, and keeping him company across the park might be the only way.
    Charlie shrugged — then made a face.   "I tell you," he said, "I don't.   Esme gave me a real going-over."   Slowly, creakily, he rolled his shoulders, trying to loosen them a bit.
    "What about all that healing-yourself business?" Jack asked.   "I thought you were supposed to be invincible now or something."
    "Not invincible enough, apparently," Charlie replied, and smiled.
    Jack smiled back.
    "Come on, let's go."
    They set off.
    Their silence was more companionable now, but Jack was still finding it hard to ask what he wanted.   In the end, he just blurted it out:
    "Charlie, are you... okay?"
    Charlie looked at Jack but didn't stop walking.   "Yeah," he said.   "Why wouldn't I be?"
    "But isn't it... weird?"
    "What, the superpowers thing?"
    "Well, yeah!" said Jack.   "Come on ."
    Charlie made a dismissive gesture with one hand.   "It's not that weird, you know."
    "No?"
    "No," said Charlie, frowning now.
    He thought for a moment.
    "It's like... once you're into it — once you can do the stuff, you just... do it," he said.   "You know?   You just get on with it, and it all just feels right.   Everything's straightforward.   Clear.   Simple.   Until your mum rings up and tells you you've got to go home for dinner ."
    They crossed the road and went through the gate into the park.   Jack said nothing.
    "I swear," said Charlie, "you should've heard her.   Nothing I could've said would've made any difference.   Straightaway she's like, 'You're with your father, aren't you?   You're seeing him behind my back!'"
    "Oh, mate."
    "Straight up," said Charlie.   "I couldn't believe it."
    Five or six older boys were playing football on the big stretch of grass to Charlie and Jack's right.   At the end of the path, the church spire was already lit up for the night with its lights:   it stuck out of the ground and into the evening sky like a giant, pale spike of bone.
    "It's going to get worse, isn't it?" said Charlie.   "This thing with my folks, I mean.   Mum's going flaky on me.   And Dad... well."   He stopped and turned to Jack.   "You saw him in the restaurant.   He just sat there looking all surprised, like he hadn't expected I'd be angry with him.   Like I was just supposed to say 'Yeah, sure, split up with Mum and go live with someone else, I don't mind!'   Honestly, he doesn't have a clue ."
    Past Charlie's shoulders, Jack could see the footballers coming closer:   one of them was lining up a shot at the goal — or the space between the two piles of jackets on the ground anyway.
    "Saving the world's easy ," Charlie was saying.   "I'd rather fight a demon, you know?   Better that than have to go through all this—"
    Jack watched as the footballer took his shot:   he knew, with a sudden and absolute certainty, where the ball was